


kiss your fist / touch the sky

by losebetter



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, First Time, Intimacy, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rock Climbing (mentioned), VAULT-TEC education failed you when it didn't tell you what your prostate was, is "Bossy Bottom MacCready" a tag yet? it is now, thankfully we can fix that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5946391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losebetter/pseuds/losebetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rook makes a noise with his tongue - a couple of little clucks, <i>tch tch tch</i> like he’s disappointed - as he encourages MacCready’s legs up and around his hips, rolling one shoulder. “I wish you’d told me before, we could’ve taken a little more time with this, gotten you - you know. More used to the whole thing.” His mouth crooks up. “There’s really something about a good fingering,” he continues, like that’s just something people say. MacCready feels the heat on his cheeks flare up with his next heartbeat. “I’ll have to show you - I could, now, if you - "</p><p>And, well, MacCready figures he’s got his legs up for a reason; he shuffles up, arches his back, crosses his ankles until he can give Rook a little tug.</p><p>“Nah,” he blurts, and grins. “Later.” He preens when Rook chuckles. “You said you’d show me a good time, cowboy, no take-backs.”</p><p>It sounds braver than he feels, but Rook gives his thigh an affectionate squeeze like he’d understood anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss your fist / touch the sky

**Author's Note:**

> woah, i wrote a smutty fallout fic! wahoo. that this is getting posted at all is largely the fault of [asexualshepard](http://asexualshepard.tumblr.com/)/[summerparamour](http://archiveofourown.org/users/summerparamour/pseuds/summerparamour), but please don't blame her for the filth, she's kinder than i deserve, and is probably the reason anything good in this ever happened. [Q](http://queen-schadenfreude.tumblr.com/) is the best roommate a freak could ask for. thanks for not judging me when i grabbed my laptop & headphones and said, "it's time to get maccready an orgasm. he deserves it."
> 
> if a bit more information on the sole survivor would help, he's got a tag on my tumblr right [here](http://losebetter.tumblr.com/tagged/ss%3A+rook/)! if not, suffice it to say that his name is rook howard, and he looks a bit like [this](http://41.media.tumblr.com/9138330724a2ba05e6f73a057bd01925/tumblr_o0v6jtQiBb1uopznto1_1280.png). there are some things mentioned in this fic that are specific to him as a character - related to his candy habit or mountaineering background and whatnot - but hopefully it doesn't throw you out too badly. ♥ 
> 
> this fic took me more than two months to complete, and it's something i put a lot of work into - i'd really appreciate if you gave it a chance. <3 thanks!
> 
>  **UPDATE:** this fic now has fanart (!!!!!!) by the irreplaceable ida/[@flannelshirtandjeans](http://flannelshirtandjeans.tumblr.com/)! you can find it [HERE](http://flannelshirtandjeans.tumblr.com/post/148545929784/losebetters-kiss-your-fist-touch-the) \- and i highly recommend [the rest of her work](http://flannelshirtandjeans.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art) too, as she's a very dear friend of mine with a TON of talent. thank you again, darling, so much! <3

“You ever done this before?” Rook asks, soft out of his scratchy throat, breath humid against MacCready’s split lip.

MacCready had expected this, and he struggles to bring his thoughts back around to where he can access them. Rook’s warm palm hovers over the base of his cock, though, and he squirms.

“No,” he admits levelly, “nothing like this - " and he gasps, unable to keep himself from jerking against Rook’s hand as he feels a ghostly little touch of fingers back behind his balls. He almost wants to berate himself for it - _what had he expected?_ \- but he swallows instead, sure that Rook can read the hesitation on his face.

“Never?” he murmurs. He crowds closer, and MacCready automatically spreads his legs further to let him. His pointer drags just heavily enough over the soft stretch of skin directly behind MacCready’s balls, and he can feel a whine build in his throat. “Not even with one?”

“Um.” To MacCready’s credit, he actually does try to think back, but - he’s certain he’d have remembered, and his mind is curiously empty. “N - no.” Anxiety tickles in his chest, under his skin. “Is that gonna be a problem, or - "

But Rook shushes him gently, secures the sound with a kiss to the corner of MacCready’s mouth.

“Not at all,” he assures - and he sounds weirdly serious, more focused than MacCready is used to, and something about that is a relief, in a way, to have him in charge - “I’ll talk you through it.”

Then Rook makes a noise with his tongue - a couple of little clucks, _tch tch tch_ like he’s disappointed - as he encourages MacCready’s legs up and around his hips, rolling one shoulder. “I wish you’d told me before, we could’ve taken a little more time with this, gotten you - you know. More used to the whole thing.” His mouth crooks up. “There’s really something about a good fingering,” he continues, like that’s just something people say. MacCready feels the heat on his cheeks flare up with his next heartbeat. “I’ll have to show you - I could, now, if you - "

And, well, MacCready figures he’s got his legs up for a reason; he shuffles up, arches his back, crosses his ankles until he can give Rook a little tug.

“Nah,” he blurts, and grins. “Later.” He preens when Rook chuckles. “You said you’d show me a good time, cowboy, no take-backs.”

It sounds braver than he feels, but Rook gives his thigh an affectionate squeeze like he’d understood anyway.

“Easy, tiger,” Rook coos. He’s grinning wide, and MacCready feels his long fingers dig into his thigh a little more - just enough that when he lets go, MacCready doesn’t feel anxious that he’s already done something wrong. 

Rook chuckles and sets both of MacCready’s legs down, rests them on the large furs that make up their bedcovers. He reaches gamely for where he’d dropped his pants, unclipping a pouch from his belt and bringing it back up with him, settling on his knees.

He almost looks calm, dextrous fingers poking through whatever he’s got in there, and MacCready uses the time to breathe as best he can, to take stock of himself and the anticipation coiling heady in his stomach. (It’s almost a pointless exercise, the feeling jumping inside him, spring-loaded, when Rook flashes him a look and holds up a little foil square between his pointer and middle finger, because of all the parts of this he knows will be new, _that_ certainly isn’t one of them. MacCready licks his lips, glances down to where Rook’s hard dick is cradled in the crook of his thighs, curving out and up, slick with sweat and spit, and he squirms.)

His distraction lasts long enough that once he’s dragged his gaze back to Rook’s face, it’s to make eye contact with him before he pitches a little plastic bottle in an arc over MacCready’s bare front, and MacCready fumbles for it on instinct. He blinks at it, focusing just in time for Rook to speak up.

“You know what that is, right?” he checks.

MacCready feels one of his eyebrows wing up, shrewd. “Uh. Yeah.” He figures Rook deserves the side-eye, and Rook’s quiet bark of laughter sounds like an agreement.

“Good - hey, can never be too careful.” Rook pouts. “I hope that’s enough.”

_That_ makes MacCready’s other eyebrow drift up on its own, and he glances back down at the little bottle, runs his thumb over the plastic. It’s nearly full. It’s small, sure, but - “You’re kidding.” Rook looks to him, larkspur eyes serious. “You’re not kidding. Why wouldn’t this be enough?”

Rook’s mouth goes off-kilter in a grin. “You’ll see,” he promises. “You’ve used it with yourself?” MacCready nods, gives Rook another bored-out-of-his-skull huff, but it bubbles into a laugh when he sees Rook gesture down to his dick, as if MacCready hadn’t known what he meant. “Well, it’s like that. You just.” He licks his lips, leans closer and suddenly the air feels thinner again, the hollow window behind MacCready’s head hushed with still night air. “You need a lot of it, for this.”

MacCready’s lips part on a breath that doesn’t come. He hears Rook’s bag slip to the floor with a thump and then he’s leaning over again, between his legs, loose hair tickling MacCready’s cheeks as he stops just short of a kiss, the head of his cock just short of bumping MacCready’s where it’s resting heavily on his stomach, everything narrowing to the spaces between.

“Mmm.” Rook laughs quietly, breathless smile against the dip of MacCready’s open mouth. MacCready feels his long fingers playing over his own hand and he passes the bottle of lube off, scritches affectionately at Rook’s knuckle as it curls through his grip. “God, I - I gotta say something,” he murmurs.

“Of course you do.”

They both laugh, then Rook’s dick nudges MacCready’s inner thigh, and MacCready can’t help but go quiet.

“I - I _really_ can’t wait to be fuckin’ you,” Rook admits. (MacCready weighs it on his tongue, his mouth wet with drool that he swallows, feels as it moves down his throat and all the way into his belly.) “I’m so glad you - " he cuts off, shakes his head. “Yeah.” He almost seems at a loss for words, so MacCready shifts his hips, traces through Rook’s long hair with his hands. “It was a good idea. _Really_ good.”

MacCready feels his cheeks burning. “Yeah,” he whispers. He hears the flick of the bottle opening, his body feels attuned to all the little ways Rook adjusts his position to prepare himself. His stomach flips: _he’s doing this_.

Stress wriggles in his chest. “I love you,” he adds, and when Rook pulls back enough to show off his smile, the wriggles relax, stretch out inside him, long and lazy all the way down to his toes.

Rook leans back on his haunches, enough that MacCready can see that he’d been rubbing lube between the fingers of his right hand, that it’s slick and sticky now.

“Love you too,” he says amicably, and he leans down to give him a peck on the lips, another on the hot tip of his nose. MacCready jumps again when he feels the pad of Rook’s fingers back behind where he’s hard and sore - but less, this time, and he breathes, stretches his legs out.

The first push of Rook’s finger into him feels strangely ordinary - nothing he hasn’t done himself while bathing, anyway, an easy drag of his finger just past the first knuckle that’s a little slicker than he’s used to. It’s the second stretch, the little curl and push past unfamiliar muscle that MacCready can’t categorize, that makes his stomach tighten, tension like smoke in his lungs.

He feels Rook lean in over him and he feels boxed in, Rook’s left arm bent and resting next to his shoulder, his warm lips pressing a kiss to the center of his forehead. There’s movement down between his legs, and he feels the warmth of Rook’s finger inside him as he does - something with it, circles it a couple of times in a way that makes MacCready’s lower back seize up - but then Rook’s pulling it out, pulling back in a way that almost feels too fast with the lube spread in its place.

MacCready manages a shaky breath in - part of him misses the stretch, and that realization makes his head feel heavy - but it comes out all at once when Rook says, conversationally, “hospitable of you to clean your ass out for me.”

Something about it makes MacCready’s mouth twitch up, and then his mind makes a couple of traitorous jumps (hospitable to “ _well, I knew I’d be having company_ ,” to Rook’s finger in his asshole) that have him laughing, quiet, high chuckles against Rook’s temple.

“Sorry,” he says immediately, “I just - I thought of something funny.”

He can feel Rook’s grin against his jaw. “Hey, it’s okay,” he promises, and another giggle bubbles in MacCready’s chest, tempered by the feeling of Rook’s finger starting another slow push inside of him. “Hey - laugh more. Sex is fun!” His tone even makes MacCready laugh again, breathless, but he instinctively pulls his lip between his teeth when he feels Rook’s finger push deeper, fingertip pressing gently against muscle on all sides.

“Even if we ain’t at the really fun part yet,” Rook continues in a murmur, lips skating again over MacCready’s forehead. He noses a scrap of hair out of his way, then plants a kiss to the revealed skin. “You feel okay?”

MacCready considers this - on his next breath he feels Rook’s finger move again, but it doesn’t throw him off the way it had before. His fingers twitch in the blankets. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, I think - I think so?”

“You think so?” Rook asks - he sounds amused but he’s also stilled his finger, like MacCready should’ve guessed he would.

“Not, uh, bad,” he assures, and squirms when Rook goes back to stretching him out, “ - oh - um. But it just, it doesn’t feel like… anything.”

It really doesn’t, is what he’s learning - he can feel the stretch of his own muscles but there’s none of the weight, just the foreign feeling of something small moving deep inside him, the specifics abstracted. He’s not even freaking out, which is comforting, but as Rook pulls his finger away and then thrusts it back inside him - something he remembers having to do when he’d needed to get Rook a little wetter before he could go further, back when they’d done this the other way round, and he feels the drip of warmed lube down his leg - he’s blindsided, all at once, by the realization that one finger isn’t enough. That without knowing why, his body is craving - either all or nothing, and ‘nothing’ sounds wrong while ‘all’ makes his dick twitch.

Rook apparently notices it, too, because he’s smiling against MacCready’s cheek again.

“That’s normal,” he replies, leaving MacCready’s cock without comment, with an extra curl of his long finger that makes MacCready gasp - he feels like an animal whose fur has been stroked the right way, and when Rook does it again, the thick drag makes him smile, too. “But it doesn’t last long.” A shiver builds in MacCready’s spine at the heady twist to his voice - he’s always liked hearing Rook talk, has found something warm and grounding in it, but if his speaking voice is the rich gold rum stashed in his backpack, this sounds like the shadows in the glass bottle, the play of the dark label through honey-colored liquid.

Rook lines his middle finger up with MacCready’s entrance, gives him a friendly little rub where he’s barely stretched over his pointer, then squirms it inside him, a little bit at a time. Logically, MacCready knows his middle finger is longer than his pointer, but the jolt of pressure as he slides it up against where he’s already been stretched makes him wonder, frantically, how much further inside him Rook expects to fit it.

“Hey,” he says, and he pulls back to look MacCready in the eyes. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, “breathe.” MacCready does - and Rook’s second finger slips hard up to the first knuckle on the exhale, a whimper working its way into the breath. He can feel it in his teeth, the stretch that’s making his toes curl and cross, and Rook’s lips return to his hairline, shushing and mumbling praises. He pulls back again and this time MacCready can see a fetching blush on his bare skin, notes the pretty red on his tan cheeks and licks his lips.

He can definitely feel the stretch now, he thinks, but there’s still an empty quality to it, something he can fill up with his own impressions. It doesn’t feel strictly bad and it doesn’t feel strictly _good_ , either, but the anticipation feels good, the shudder in Rook’s breath feels _really_ good. Rook’s fingers aren’t turning him on, not in the physical way he’d expected, call and response - but he’s turned on anyway, from all of it, from being stretched out to get fucked by him, and then -

As if his decision had informed his body, his cock twitches again, heat pooling in his stomach as Rook works to separate the two fingers inside him, a thick squeeze of hot skin. “Hm - oh. Huh.”

Rook chuckles and presses - more, again, the feeling like a tickle up MacCready’s spine, through the meat of his stomach. He closes his eyes, working into it - Rook pulls his fingers out, gets them with the lube again and then they’re back, twisting up into him again in a way that reminds MacCready of jerking himself off, his fingers closed tight around his wet dick - so he pushes his hips down onto them, moves like his memories tell him to, and he feels a shudder break all the way down from the crown of his head, his chest seizing with a gasp.

“Good,” Rook chokes out, lips knocking the side of MacCready’s nose before he rights himself. “Good?” Somehow, it makes sense.

“Oh yeah,” MacCready breathes, bearing down on the pressure with a hum. “Give me - " he starts, and then shakes his head. Rook is one step ahead of him, a third fingertip tapping playfully against the first two and sending barely-there vibrations up them to where MacCready’s tight muscle stops them hard. “ _Yeah_.“

Rook’s third finger actually does get to him, in a way the first two hadn’t - it’s _just this side_ of too much, a tease of what’s to come, and Rook is moving so deliberately that the slow stretch feels natural, a rhythmic slide that feels _amazing_ , makes MacCready’s heels dig into Rook’s back.

It isn’t the stretch that makes him whine this time but - but the lack of it, minutes later, Rook’s tongue in his mouth and his dripping fingers pulling, pulling, leaving empty tension behind -

“Mn _ghh_ \- " - and he breaks off from the kiss with a gasp - “ - why, w - "

“It’s okay,” Rook says hastily, planting a last spit-cool kiss to MacCready’s hot cheek, “it’s okay, let me just - " MacCready senses his shiver more than he feels it. “You - you’re gonna be - you’re good, just - _fuck_ , just hang - "

He moans, then, and MacCready’s breath catches, the slip of silence enough for him to hear the slap of Rook’s dick getting pushed through his fist a couple of times, his hair falling out of its bun and down over MacCready’s ear.

MacCready’s hands are on him in an instant, one at his side and the other on his chest, tilting to tweak his nipple and make Rook suck in a breath, all his muscles taut.

He sees Rook reach for the condom and pick the wrapper open with one fingernail, and he _plans_ to watch him do the rest, too, thinks he’s familiar enough with this song and dance to know what he’s in for - but Rook is leaned back enough now that MacCready gets a full, unobstructed view of him, of his cock hanging heavy between his legs - and the first brush of Rook’s tense thumb over the rosy head is honestly too much for him, makes him have to tip his head back, want harnessing his insides and stealing the air from his lungs.

The wait feels like torture but soon enough Rook is crawling forward again, brushing some hair back behind his ear then reaching for MacCready’s twitching thighs with both hands. He’s gone quiet, other than the gasps, and abruptly he looks up, slim eyes on MacCready’s.

Everything goes even quieter, his harsh movements over. The head of his cock bumps the inside of his thigh, MacCready sees it happen, and Rook pulls him in just enough that there’s no room for that anymore, slots himself in so close to where MacCready wants him, almost like the way he’d wedged his thigh between MacCready’s legs earlier in the night, slow and easy but not hesitant, the blunt weight of his leg against the shape of MacCready’s cock through his pants, what might as well be a whole other lifetime ago. 

“How do you feel?” Rook asks on a breath - it takes MacCready a couple of seconds to realize that he’s stopped moving. His head is spinning.

“I, uh,” he tries, and swallows thickly when his voice cracks. One of his legs trembles. He does his best to think. “I feel, mmm, like - " - there’s something twisted up tight in his stomach, and he reaches for the feeling, trying to figure out why it’s just that little bit familiar - “ - a l - little like, it feels like the difference between, ah, being outside and bein’ - outside after you’ve been underwater, like… like you don’t - notice the cold until you, h _aah_ , until - "

MacCready looks down and his whole train of thought stalls out. He can see the full length of Rook’s dick between his legs, too obviously wet against the material of the condom, only the very tip teasing at pushing inside him and it - he can’t help it, he wriggles his hips and gasps when he feels the head of his cock nudging just enough to stretch him out a little further.

It’s not _enough_ , Christ, and when Rook pulls back again (he looks amused, but he’s got his lip between his teeth which is a _whole_ other problem) MacCready feels the ghost of the stretch like deadweight, he feels -

“ _Shit_ \- empty, I feel - " and he can feel heat spreading out hard and fast across his cheeks, his toes making to curl where they’ve been sitting idle at Rook’s back - “empty. Like I - _nngh_ , oh, f - " he pulls his cheek between his teeth so hard he sees stars, but at least the curse doesn’t fall out. He tips his head back, stretching out his throat as if that could give him more room to breathe. His thighs ache from being spread for so long, blood burns through his body, all of his muscles taut and alive and - f - fucking _sore_.

Rook coos at him, low and fond, and it makes MacCready’s gut flip dangerously. The air thins when he feels Rook’s loose hair tickling his neck, and the first touch of his damp lips to his throat makes him lightheaded.

“Good,” he murmurs against MacCready’s skin, teeth grazing his adam’s apple at a tickle until he can’t hold back from swallowing anymore. He feels the resistance, the slight pressure of Rook’s pointy teeth, and his dick twitches obviously between them.

Rook sounds pleased when he chuckles, and he brings his bottom teeth up in a harsh scrape against MacCready’s sensitive skin, closing his mouth to suck at it, the start to what MacCready knows will be an obvious mark.

“You want me to fuck you,” he offers, soft and hoarse but riding the sharp edge of a growl, _god_ ,MacCready wants - he wants -

His fantasies are sadly lacking, the holes in his knowledge obvious. Thankfully, Rook has given him a pretty straightforward prompt.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “ _please_ , I want - "

_It’s not about the cursing_ , something in his brain suggests at a whisper, _it’s that you can always find something better! You’re smart, and if you just think, you can -_

MacCready pauses, and thinks. His fingers tighten in Rook’s hair.

“I want to feel it,” he admits, his voice more serious than he’d expected. He shudders when he’s rewarded for the extra effort, Rook’s mouth dropping open to groan against his throat, his sweaty hands shifting on MacCready’s thighs to jostle him back up into position again. He licks his lips. “I - I want to feel full when you’re done with me, I, _Rook, please_ \- "

He can’t finish the thought - what something low and sombre in his stomach says had been _begging_ \- because Rook moves, and MacCready’s words whine into a gasp that breaks like shots from a submachine gun, fast and loose - and one always feeling a little too close to the one before it, a little lower than he likes - “o - _ohh_ , y - yeah - _yeah, R_ \- "

Rook hisses, pained, and MacCready has to reel himself in again, try to figure out what’s happened - 

“It’s fine,” he breathes, the long expanse of his back bent, and MacCready forces his gaze up his own arms, feels out the nerves in his trembling fingers and only _then_ thinks to uncurl them, and the ribbed resistance of skin under his nails makes something pull through his cock, a slick little bead of pre-come sliding over his overheated skin. Rook makes some noise - too dirty to sound proud, but a little ‘ _mmmm_ ‘ nonetheless. “More than fine.”

“Are you - bleeding?”

A wrecked laugh, from somewhere deep enough that there’s a moan in it. “Your nails - not that sharp, tiger,” Rook manages. He takes in a breath and pushes a little further, makes MacCready’s vision blur a little - he’s just _that_ much thicker around than his fingers, and not for the first time MacCready wonders exactly how lucky he’s managed to get, that Rook knows what the hell he’s doing, knew exactly how far to push him before that now there’s nothing but the slick stretch, the feeling twisting up through him and making him want it, bad.

Rook licks his lips. “But - god, _fuck_ \- keep - whatever you have to, whatever - you, you want to feel it - " he suggests, forces a breath - “so do I.”

MacCready feels his head jerk back, can’t hold back a little ' _aahh, ahhh'_  - pushes his shoulders down into the bed and bites his tongue, tightens the grip of his legs on either side of Rook’s waist, wanting - _needing_ \- to pull him in faster, get it done, unexpected shyness the only thing stopping him.

Something makes his fingers twitch clumsily, like a kink in his neck, but he realizes what it is quickly enough.

“Should I - " and _fuck,_ he sounds like he’s been chain-smoking, his voice ragged, breath hot over his sore lips, “s - should I move? L - l - like, push - push back?”

Rook wavers above him, bowed under a full-body run of shivers - _turned on, he’s, I did that_ \- “We gotta, go slow at first, I know it feels, _ohh_ , I know how it, how you feel, but trust me.” When MacCready catches the look in his eyes he notices that one of them is squinted a little against the sweat sliding off his brow, but it’s an expression that feels so soft for how - how relentless the hard weight of him is, how even unmoving his heartbeat is pounding through his cock and against the skin MacCready can’t quite visualize. The naked affection makes MacCready’s fingers grope lazily, searching for a lock of loose hair or - something, something that he can hold and remember.

“I trust you,” he breathes, and Rook laughs, fond and quiet, bumps noses with him.

“Then trust me when - when I tell you, that all you gotta do is lay back. Let yourself relax.”

MacCready’s next breath is deeper than the ones before it, more solid. There’s the suggestion of something when he does it, like if he breathes deep enough he’ll - collide with something, maybe, like he’ll be able to feel Rook inside him with it, and the thought makes him have to suddenly swallow, his mouth too wet under his tongue.

“There you go,” Rook praises warmly. MacCready feels him a little deeper, and can tell exactly when that thought does him in, the overeager clenching of muscle around Rook’s cock sending a twinge of pain up into his gut. 

Rook must’ve been looking for it, and MacCready can’t help the rush of relief when he pulls back just a little, just enough. “Sssh, sshh, I got you.” Rook’s lips are slick against his cheek - and - kind, moreover, weirdly patient, and the scratch of his goatee against his jaw grounds him. He breathes as evenly as he can, in and out twice more, and slower each time, before Rook starts to move again. It takes them a few seconds - a catch and start, a little stutter of Rook’s hips that makes MacCready squirm - but god, they -

They get it. MacCready doesn’t know when his mind had stopped waiting for Rook to be completely inside him, just letting the push and stretch happen like it was the end-all be-all of the interaction, but Rook’s hips nudging up against the skin of his ass surprises him enough that he can almost hear the whisper of his nails as they tear up Rook’s back again.

And - here, then, he feels - hyperaware. Rook’s heavy breaths, uncontrollable. The gentle, calloused fingers on his thigh and up next to his cheek, blunt nails digging into his palm with the effort of not simply collapsing, and all for - for this, for the drip of sweat over MacCready’s cheek as he blinks it out of the way.

He feels suspended here, anticipation so acute that he almost can’t feel it all at once. His mind, memory and imagination, provide what he knows will come next but - 

MacCready breathes out. Anticipation, yes - but pride, too, as though getting just this far was enough in its own way, was balanced perfectly for the moment. He feels himself smile and his cheeks hurt with it, but Rook kisses him - off-center a little, because there’s a smile on his lips too - and he remembers -

An early morning. He and Rook, neither dressed for the slight chill of a sun that had only just decided to rise, but laughing through it, Rook convincing him that he’d warm up, _come on, tiger, just this once, yeah?_

They’d spent the morning scaling a rock wall off the Hillock Reservoir, MacCready reluctant to start but for once happy to lag behind and watch. Rook had pulled himself up and up, over a derelict freighter crate, and then he’d hung low, kicked a loose pipe down into the entryway of the nearby Vault, just to show off. He remembers seeing Rook stretched that way, all long legs and the delicate, slender power of his bare fingers and toes. His breath had caught in his throat, then, drier than the cold had called for.

He’d whooped as he’d gone and MacCready, grumbling aside, had found something about his energy contagious, the privacy of the sleepy morning around them invigorating as they nearly killed themselves on the old rocks, hollered like animals when they slipped and cackled when they found purchase, made progress.

Rook was long ahead of him when MacCready’d thought he’d felt the sort of bursting, secret joy of the thing, of the immoveable earth under his raw hands - but he was no climber, and the last stretch had him winded almost past his patience.

He remembers this vividly: Rook’s hand appearing in his line of vision, interrupting his thoughts completely as he’d tried to plan his next move up the wall. Looking up, following the line of bare skin dotted with freckles and fresh dirt, uninterrupted to his collarbone. Realizing _oh, he’s shirtless_ even before the followup thought, _oh, I’m at the top._

Reaching up for Rook’s hand then, and - the moment of him letting go, of trading the sweat he’d left on the rocks for this, now, for Rook holding him and pulling him the rest of the way, the electric second of awareness that if Rook had dropped him, eased the firm grip on his hand, that he could fall too far, too fast. That he wouldn’t be able to catch himself. _I got you._

(“That’s - " Rook stutters, in the present. MacCready hums and kisses him, rubs the harder tip of his tongue against the soft side of Rook’s just to make him moan, the fullness and the stretch turning over to restlessness almost in slow-motion, the curl of a cresting wave. “That’s - _oh_.”)

His feet on solid ground, then, and the release of tension, of his breath. The slower release of Rook’s hand from his.

“Not bad,” Rook had complimented, breathless, his wide smile betraying him, “for a city slicker.”

Rook’s broad hand clapping him on the back, MacCready’s punched-out laugh as he’d ripped off his own undershirt and flung it at Rook’s head, but - but - the pride, there, the catch in his breath as he’d turned around and looked at how far he’d come.

“I know, right?” Rook had asked then, over his shoulder, and MacCready had felt it in his wild animal heart, had reached up to cover his genuine smile. The dumb rocks had no business making him feel this powerful, this connected to himself, to the world. Rook had poked him delicately on the shoulder, though, and he’d been certain it had shown on his face once he’d turned to face him.

“It’s impressive, but. Look up.”

If the rocks had made him feel strong, confident in his power, the sunrise had only smoothed him over, made something deep inside him go quiet, breathless.

He’d put his hand over his stomach just to feel his own breathing.

(“Fuck me,” MacCready murmurs against his mouth, and it feels okay to say now, feels natural and right so he doesn’t even hesitate, just lets it live and burn in his mouth like spiced whiskey, lets it warm up his gut the same way. “ _Fuck_ me. I - I want you to - _please_ \- ”)

“Wondered why you did this to yourself every morning,” he’d quipped, and Rook had laughed, as always.

Rook isn’t laughing now - or, he is, but - but it isn’t the same. MacCready thinks of when they travel together, of Rook happily clacking a hard candy around in his teeth versus the slow, steady pull of taffy or gum, quiet but sure.

Rook moves - out of him, pulls back, touching and stretching out parts of him that he’d already stretched before, and MacCready can feel every inch of him as he goes, can feel the pressure at the base of his dick that precludes the slick drip of more pre-come curving down over the pronounced veins in his aching cock. He squeezes his eyes shut, gasps. He stops thinking.

“God,” and Rook’s voice quakes, makes MacCready’s sore toes fight to tense up again. “You’re s - so - "

_I really am_ , MacCready thinks, nonsensically, and when Rook fucks back into him his mouth feels pried open, hitched on a gut-punch moan and stretched like it’s getting fucked, he can feel himself drooling down the side of his jaw but can’t work up the brainpower to do anything about it.

“Are you - " A pull, MacCready taking in a sharp breath through his teeth, the gaps forcing cool air down his dry throat.

“Uh huh,” he croaks, and swallows. “Yeah,” and that sounds better, he thinks, “yeah, do it aga - ag _ain_ \- "

They work into a rhythm this way, Rook so terribly alive under his hands, between his shaking legs. He reaches down, leaving Rook’s beaten shoulders to drag his fingers down his sides, and the first curl of his fingers into the crook of his hipbone makes MacCready stutter again, a whimper and a gasp, he arches his back and pulls Rook’s hips in close.

It gives him more control, for sure - Rook’s startled whimper proves that - but something breaks uneasily over his shoulders, something cold that warns him about the _finality_ of it, about how he can only take this so far, before - before, well.

He hadn’t wanted to think it - admittedly hadn’t really had the capacity to, not with the protesting muscles in his legs and the warmth curling in his gut from having Rook above him this way, feeling him tense up distractingly under his hands - but - the truth of it is -

MacCready’s eyes flutter shut and he lets out a breath, shifts his hips into Rook’s next thrust, and - 

He’s losing it. He can tell - doesn’t understand _why_ , not when Rook just pushing into him had him aching, toes curling, nails raking down his back, but he _is_. His fingers twitch on Rook’s hips and he opens his eyes again, meeting Rook’s unexpectedly sharp little gaze.

There’s the stretch again, the unyielding heat of Rook fucking up into him again - and it makes him bite his lip, makes his fingers tighten a little - 

\- but there’s none of the desperation from before. He’s no longer hanging off the edge of orgasm, and he can’t figure out which direction to go in to find it again. A small part of him suggests simply dealing with it - trying to fake his way through it, even - but that idea is immediately discarded because he already knows Rook wouldn’t appreciate it. Not to mention, he - well. He’s honestly not sure he’ll be able to stay hard through it, which sounds miserable any way he thinks about it.

“H - hey,” he says softly - and his voice is hoarse, still, which sends a neat prickle of heat up his spine, but - 

He scratches his nails affectionately against Rook’s sweat-slick skin. “Uhh - are y - you - "

“I’m good,” Rook manages, “but - hold on, I - I know what you’re - " He tips his head back, gives MacCready a pretty damn good view of his elongated throat. He seems to be better for it when he swallows and looks back down. “Don’t worry, MacCready, okay?” he breathes, and it’s hard to disagree with him. 

Rook adjusts his grip on the blankets with one hand, nestles the other just under MacCready’s jaw, thumbing over his cheek - it’s a sweet touch. Then, he grins. “I know what I’m doing.”

He follows that up with another thrust into him - but it’s one that makes MacCready gulp down his complaint, suddenly warm with a weightless feeling in his belly that he doesn’t know what to do with.

Something must show on his face, because Rook’s grin gets bigger, more sure. “Yeah,” he says - which seems a little presumptuous, in MacCready’s opinion, considering he hasn’t even decided whether he _likes_ the feeling or not - “Yeah, just - "

His next thrust hits harder, and MacCready feels it immediately - pins and needles in his sore forearms, but like he’s been burned, inside, or - 

“Oh,” falls out of his mouth, something in his forehead throbs, and when he feels Rook jerk forward slightly as he pulls out again, it takes him a few seconds to realize it had been his own legs trying to pull him back in, he feels - 

Rook bears down on him, hard, mouth less than an inch from MacCready’s - and his next thrust sets MacCready’s _blood on fire_.

“ _Jesus Christ!_ ” and he feels it as much as he hears it, his own harsh breaths echoed against Rook’s damp skin - and Rook is shaking, like he’s laughing - but -

“What - hhh _aaa_ , oh, _oh_ shh - " and the only thought MacCready can manage is that his sex voice _didn’t used to sound this whiny_ , and before he’s cobbled any semblance of a comment together Rook is pulling out and -

He feels his back arch hard off the blankets on Rook’s next thrust, assisted by his sweaty hands on the blankets below him and he _knows_ how needy it probably looks but he can’t - his body isn’t -

“That’s good, right?” Rook’s voice is _wrecked_ , shot full of holes that MacCready can feel him gasping through, their chests are pulled so tight together. “I know, it’s - _oh, fuck_ \- "

“ _What_ ,” MacCready blurts, the sound flat and desperate in a way that makes his toes curl, “what did you _do_ , Rook, oh - "

Rook lets out a sort of breathy, hungry laugh - there’s something victorious in it, like he’s proud, and MacCready is about ready to lose his _mind_ when Rook gathers his lips up in a kiss, slides his tongue easily between his parted teeth and - _oh_ , but it’s _better_ with kissing - 

MacCready feels an urge satisfied when he sucks on Rook’s tongue as he pulls out again, runs the edges of his teeth over it until he can feel Rook’s shiver from where the head of his dick is barely nudged inside him - but Rook’s next abrupt thrust makes his mouth drop open on a moan again, makes him forget - _everything_ , he’d thought he’d been used to kissing Rook but his head feels _empty_ -

“ _What is that_ ,” he manages between gasps, and it sounds like a sob but his face hurts from smiling, he has no idea what his body is doing anymore.

“Ahh, _god - ggh_ \- " Rook’s next breath is desperate, and MacCready registers their damp skin touching again, he wonders if Rook would know if he was about to have a heart attack just by leaning into his chest. “You know,” he tries, and he unsticks his hand from where it had slipped down under MacCready’s neck. He holds up one finger, which makes MacCready hiccup out a laugh.

“You know how ladies have - " he gestures - “they have a g-spot, right?”

He doesn’t wait for MacCready to respond, which is wise. He twirls his one finger with a flourish, points it down at MacCready’s stomach - and when he looks down he can see how tense he is, how deep all his breaths seem to be going. “We got that.”

“You’re _shitting_ me,” and he can’t find the shame about the curse in the rubble of his shellshocked brain. He jerks, goes to grip Rook’s shoulder all at once, something inside him squeezing tight and protesting how empty he feels, again, _fuck_ \- how did he not _know_ about this -

“You’re feelin’ better now, right?” Rook asks, and it’s sweet but heady, makes MacCready lick his swollen lips - _why_ did Rook stop kissing him -

“Oh y - yeah, yeah, you - “ MacCready smiles again, a soundless laugh. “You got me - now _come on_ - _mmmngh_ \- " He closes his eyes, indulgent, when he feels Rook push into him again - and he can’t help himself, he locks his legs around Rook’s waist and keeps him there, wants him to feel it too -

Rook’s groan trips up out of his gut, MacCready can tell, can feel the weight of it, and _christ_ he feels good, like his nerves are singing, he never wants to leave this exact position -

Rook pulls out halfway, but he’s back before MacCready can even _think_ , feels just that much deeper, pleasure burning through MacCready’s blood again. He kills his previous thought, finds a new favorite position - _fuck_ -

“Good,” Rook hums. He sounds just confident enough that MacCready is more than willing to let him have this one, feels possessed in the sort of primal way that makes his neck itch to be bitten. “We’re gonna rock your world.”

Rook’s _right_ , is the best part of this - MacCready’s cock aches to be touched but he leaves it be, languishes in the bliss of a slow-building orgasm, the anticipation and heat that makes him clench his teeth on a grin. 

“You know,” he gasps, and preens as Rook bottoms out again, “I used to - _mm_ , I could never - figure out - what all the hype was about.”

Rook’s thrusts pause as he catches his breath, and MacCready feels wet tongue against his skin - only licking his lips, and the mild disappointment just makes MacCready’s fingers itch to drag him into another kiss, but it can wait.

“And - _now?_ ” he asks, bucks forward just as MacCready’s legs had started to slide down his sides, which makes him hike them right back up. _Bastard_ , MacCready thinks, almost delirious with affection for him.

“Like it’s not fuckin’ - o - obvious - " and he grabs him for that kiss, then, takes ahold of Rook’s jaw with both hands and lines him up for it - “la - _aa_ st thing you need stroked is your ego.”

Rook chuckles into his mouth, sweet and contagious, and he pulls back just enough to talk. “Mmm, but - there’s an idea,” he murmurs, catching MacCready’s bottom lip between his and reaching down to brush his knuckle up the side of MacCready’s cock. There’s no pressure to it, just a stroke, and pre-come shudders out of him again, slick and - when Rook thrusts again, MacCready feels a strange sense of being full on both ends, Rook inside him and his dick hot enough to start leaking, and it only winds him up more.

Rook doesn’t keep his fingers down there for long, shifts to put both of his hands palm-down on either side of MacCready’s head, but his next couple of thrusts _more_ than make up for it, his leverage just right to really give it to him for his next couple of breaths - and MacCready feels his mouth curl in a pleasure-thick smile, slow and indulgent and a little too genuine. All at once Rook’s hips stop short, his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle a groan. Gooseflesh breaks out on his flushed skin, MacCready can feel it, and something heavy drops through his gut when he realizes why - because he’s definitely been there before.

Rook had almost come inside him - had gotten so close, and then - stopped himself -

Fuck. Hell. “ _Fuck_ ,” MacCready whinges, his head spinning. Rook lifts up one shaking hand to pat him on the bicep, his breaths so obviously labored that his control is strikingly obvious.

The slick push of Rook’s dick inside him again makes a noise, then - and it’s - he’s - 

He’s _wet_ , MacCready thinks, with a shiver in his stomach, and when Rook bottoms out, finishing his interrupted thrust, it wrings a soft moan from his throat, makes his cock throb and leak out again, pre-come and sweat trailing down his overheated skin. He’s wet down there, and _god help him_ , where had this thought come from - how - but he wants to be _wetter_ , curses the condom Rook had insisted upon.

He wants Rook to fill him up, and the thought haunts him through the next few thrusts as Rook starts up again, makes his ass ache with how hard he’s tensing it, begging with his body for something he knows he won’t get this time.

MacCready’s next exhale is punched out of him on a whine that only tightens the knots in his gut, at the base of his spine. He feels his balls draw up, the heat trapped deliciously in the friction burns he can feel throbbing on his thighs, the slick drip of lube over them, and his chin trembles.

“Move,” he begs, even though he’s not giving Rook any room to do so, his legs locked tight over his sweat-slick back, “Rook, _move_ , Christ - "

“I,” Rook starts, but he can’t keep his hips from stuttering, the head of his dick pressing that barest length further - _too far - not far enough, but - almost -_ and whatever he’d been about to say gets cut off with a ragged little whine.

MacCready’s nerves are on fire, something in him making him _need_ to scratch the tension out, and he curls his blunt fingernails mercilessly into the muscle of Rook’s upper back. “This isn’t - _oh_ , this - th - _hh - o - oh_ , my god, _jesus_ \- "

They’ve almost stalled out, for all of MacCready’s insistence and Rook’s desperation, and he’s so close - he can feel orgasm yawning in his stomach, the pressure building like single rounds in a more sophisticated rifle - loading in one after the other after the other until the last, the last one which fights and has to be pushed in with just that much - just enough to get it past the hard edge of the chamber until it _clicks_ -

“I’ve got an idea,” Rook says, breathless and raw. MacCready watches him lick his cherry-bitten lips and shuts his eyes, a moan slipping out of his open mouth. “You’re gonna hate me for it - " he says, and _what_ , because Rook’s _last_ idea had been pretty damn lifechanging - “but - "

All at once MacCready feels cool air instead of the unforgiving wet pressure of something inside him and - jesus, he almost _cries_ -

“What,” he warbles, intent on giving Rook the hell he righteously deserves, but he doesn’t get through it before he feels Rook’s shaking hands sliding further up his legs, grabbing, and -

And suddenly he’s in Rook’s lap, his exhausted legs dangling heavily over where they’re being spread by his waist, _fuck,_ and Rook wastes no time, takes in a thin breath and fucks back into him again, the first thrust almost a miss and the second hesitant but the _third_ -

MacCready scrambles for purchase on Rook’s back again, his grip reignited by the newness of the position, but one sweaty hand slips down his front, scraping down over the hair on Rook’s chest to catch his nipple with his nail.

“Oh, fuck,” Rook growls, and his teeth are clenched like he’s trying to hold back, because - because MacCready is _riding him_ , that’s exactly what’s happening, and as MacCready feels himself lowered onto Rook’s cock again (and _there_ it is, thank god, it’s just - the angle is - and he’s a little worried he might pass out when he finally comes from this) by nothing but _gravity_ it’s -

MacCready sticks his tongue between his teeth and rides it out, the hand not idling on Rook’s chest clawing through his hair, thumb trembling over the shell of his ear. “Yeah,” he manages, “yeah, same - - _fuck_ \- " and it takes him by surprise, spears up his spine like wildfire, the curse pushed out of him when Rook’s cock twitches inside him, the curve hitting him just right, making him bow his back out.

The angle is new, the push familiar but instead of just brushing that - whatever, whatever it is, inside him - it drags, a hush of movement that jangles his nerves like a loose chain, and he steals even closer to Rook’s skinny chest, heartbeat rabbit-fast under his hand.

He clenches his teeth, forces them apart to breathe - but he can’t breathe without making noise, a stuttered _oh, oh, oh_ \- and when Rook lifts him up there’s a _tension_ and it snaps harshly when he bottoms out again, his one hand scratching across the expanse of Rook’s shoulders to sink into his hair.

“I think I - “ MacCready babbles, but can’t continue. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe, because - god, he’s _right there_ , orgasm claws at him, almost - _almost_ \- and he has no idea how much time has passed - but -

“Holy shit,” Rook whispers. One of his hands trails down MacCready’s spine, shaking fingers so close to where MacCready feels spread open and wet, he feels a _mess_ , like Rook being stuffed up inside him is the only thing keeping him - keeping - “Can you - can you come just from this?” he asks - he follows the clutch of MacCready’s fingers in his hair, and MacCready feels his open mouth against the bare skin just above his collarbone.

“I - _aaah_ , I, I - m - maybe?” He can’t think anymore, not with how loud his own heartbeat is in his ears, everything in him focused on the thick, slow push of Rook’s cock up into him, the feeling of the backs of his thighs hitting the tops of Rook’s, the acute slap of skin from before still embarrassing enough to make the back of his neck heat up.

He lifts himself up as best he can to let himself drop - and Rook whines that time, his own thrust just the bump MacCready needs, thank _god_ -

“That is so hot,” Rook murmurs, “holy - _come on_ , you can do it - "

“Aaa _aahh_ , hh - _ah_ \- "

MacCready’s knees are trembling, and somewhere between his animal-minded struggle to make them lift him up again and Rook’s next thrust inside him (“ _come on, babe, I - oh, you - you’re incredible, you’re so good - "_ ), something flares between his legs, punches down and cracks like scorched bark, leaves marks on him from the inside like a charcoal line. Rook’s mouth is hot on the muscle of his shoulder and he feels the vibrations in his throat when he whimpers.

His stomach swoops, a gasp of freezing air on the mountainside, his fingers hard in the earth and now hard on hot skin - “Rook - _Rook, o - oh_ \- "

In a split-second his body takes over and he bucks down, and when he feels Rook’s balls hit his ass he comes, just like that; his legs aching, a twist through his stomach, his feet on the ground after being suspended.

_We love him_ , MacCready’s body informs him, and MacCready shivers.

It rocks through him, a shudder and a whisper, and then gone.

When he breathes out again it’s heavy, feels like he’s been breathing wrong - _right_ , wrong sounds too much like regret for the protective beast curling up low in his belly, it feels like he’s been breathing wrong the whole rest of his life that wasn’t this, instead - for hours. He reaches one shaking hand toward the back of Rook’s head, pets through his sweat-soaked hair.

His body feels the way it does when he makes it behind cover just in time, steadily thumping heartbeat all he can hear, pounding in his head but then - starting to slow, relaxing as his body recognizes safety, thick adrenaline cleaned out by fresh breaths. He feels sated, his limbs and eyelids heavy - but he pushes through it, wiggles a little bit in Rook’s lap.

“F - fffauuh - f - fu _uck_ \- "

MacCready kisses the curse off his lips and feels Rook’s harsh whimper in his mouth, swallows it, sucks his tongue into his mouth and - he’s hazy, utterly wiped out, but there’s nothing that could keep him from feeling Rook’s orgasm, the way he bottoms out inside him and then - then - 

He laments the condom again, harebrained, and he feels cool air so potentially he’d even done it out _loud_ \- but when Rook drags him back into another sloppy kiss he goes willingly, carding his fingers through Rook’s wrecked hair to keep his mouth close by.

There’s the sharp sting of teeth once, when Rook loses control - but after that the kisses soften, turn reverent, demure against sore skin, aching jaws. The last one is sweet, and MacCready can feel his smile in it, knows he’s grinning too, a little further along catching his breath. He can hear Rook murmuring, too ( _“amazing, you’re - love you, so much -_  " with his voice cracking dryly halfway through), and plants a kiss on his temple, lets his body bloom with a stretch as Rook slowly, gently, bends to lower him down.

Something kicks in his chest, petulant, when Rook starts to pull out - but it happens easily enough, just a last slick pop and then done. MacCready frowns with the resulting chill, but even as Rook pinches the condom shut and ties it off, elongates his body to drop it inelegantly into the trash can under their makeshift nightstand (full of secret Railroad code, MacCready’s sleepy brain provides, and he hopes Deacon goes looking through it), he doesn’t go far - and once that’s done, he collapses on top of MacCready, surprises a little _oof_ out of him.

They lie there too long - but not nearly long enough - Rook’s damp body spread out protectively across MacCready’s in a way that makes him feel a little less naked, despite the come on Rook’s stomach that’s starting to dry on them both uncomfortably. They trade tired kisses and MacCready thinks he could probably fall asleep just like this, his heartbeat sluggish and satisfied in his chest.

Then the quiet is suddenly interrupted - by MacCready’s stomach growling. It’s a pitiful sort of creaky rumble, and he can feel Rook’s laughter.

“Um,” MacCready says, weirdly abashed, “sorry.” As though he has any room to feel embarrassed about the things his body does in front of Rook, considering what they’d just done.

“Worked up an appetite,” Rook murmurs into his chest, still sounding amused. “No shame in that.”

MacCready laughs, carding his hand through Rook’s sweaty hair. “I guess. I - sort of just want to sleep, though,” he assures Rook, tries to convince himself.

“Mmmm,” Rook purrs, the delayed orgasm making him docile. He nuzzles closer. “Sounds perfect.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Rook murmurs as MacCready’s eyes adjust. “Morning.” 

MacCready turns his head and blinks instead of answering, managing a lazy wave. Rook is seated at the edge of the bed, close enough for MacCready to touch if he’d wanted to, his arms extended out in front of him and his fingers locked together.

He registers a flash of teeth before Rook’s arms fall, take up a position over his head, instead. The arch of his back is exquisite, lit up by the sun streaming in through the hollow windows, and MacCready’s eyes catch on a trail of freckles leading into a pair of moles low on his spine. He’s wearing low-slung sweatpants, but they don’t impede the view much. Fondness wraps itself snugly around each of MacCready’s ribs, settling in his chest the way cord settles between his fingers when he wraps it up at the start of a trip.

“It’s past ten, by the way,” Rook offers helpfully, content to keep up the conversational ball without help. MacCready is grateful, feels his eyelids drooping again - until he registers what Rook has actually said.

“That late?” MacCready croaks. He clears his throat, nods thanks when Rook passes him a dirty water bottle. (The cap cracks when he opens it, though, and - of course, it’s fresh. As if he’d really expected Rook to spare any expense on his behalf, at this point.)

Rook shrugs and sets to work tying up his hair, pulling it off the back of his neck and revealing more freckles. “I just got back here, I’m in no hurry to schlepp out again. Figured you could use the sleep.”

“Mmm.” The water isn’t too cold and it feels good against MacCready’s raw throat, but the reminder of _why_ it’s so torn up makes him lick his lips, considering. He caps it again, half emptied. “Where is everyone?”

“Nicky’s on watch,” Rook reports easily. “Reamed me a little bit for all the noise, nothing I couldn’t handle. He’s a good one. Cait’s out running, Deacon’s on the rails.” He smiles, carefree. “Dogmeat’s downstairs. Went for a walk with me this morning, so he’s happy.” 

He trails off then, probably taking stock of where the others could be - as well as he could, anyway, without grabbing his Pip-Boy off the makeshift nightstand. MacCready doesn’t care. He likes the others well enough, but his main investment is seated next to him, angry scratch marks littering his bare back.

MacCready makes a few moves toward getting up, but soreness shoots down his back and between his legs so ferociously that he flops backwards again with a loud whoosh of his breath, letting the water bottle drop plaintively to the floor. 

Rook looks pleased. “Yeah - you might be feeling it today. I am, for sure, but - you know. It’s a good ache.” He chuckles. “Can be a bitch if you’re not used to it, though. You holding up?”

“Not holding _myself_ up anytime soon, no,” he grouses, and Rook snorts - he cracks his neck one way, then the other, then settles more heavily onto the mattress below them. MacCready smiles, turns as much as he’s able, and sighs happily when Rook goes the rest of the way to pull him into a warm cuddle, broad hands rubbing his sore back. He feels Rook press a kiss to his head through his sweat-fluffed hair, and swallows down a sound that felt a little too much like a swoon for his comfort.

“Thanks,” he manages, and the warmth still sneaks into his tone. Rook’s knee bumps between his, his toes poking MacCready’s bare feet.

“Anytime, babe.” Another kiss, and this time MacCready can’t hold back his smitten sigh. “Sleep a little longer with me?” he murmurs. “You’ve earned it.”

That makes MacCready chuckle past the gravel in his throat - his eyes are already closed, and Rook’s steady breaths only make him sink closer to sleep. “Whatever you say, boss,” he slurs.

Rook hums, sounding close to sleep again himself, despite the drying sweat on him from his earlier walk. “Love you,” he says sweetly, clearly, before he buries his face back in MacCready’s hair with a smooch.

“Love you,” MacCready parrots tiredly, his hand finding Rook’s bare hip.

Rook’s laugh feels like a pleasant breeze through his hair. “I’m so glad,” he offers, and it even sounds - true. Like he’s relieved, like he hadn’t been sure. “I really - thank you.”

“I mean it,” MacCready says stubbornly. He yawns, then kisses the center of Rook’s throat where it’s covered in scratchy morning stubble. “No matter what.”

**Author's Note:**

> i've got a tumblr [here](http://losebetter.tumblr.com/) \- come say hello! ♥ 
> 
> (and technically, yeah, this isn't a "first time" fic so much as it is a "first time with maccready on the bottom" fic - the former might crop up at another time. oops!)


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